


Once More Stoic

by Pyrasaur



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Drama, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrasaur/pseuds/Pyrasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he wondered how a word as small and plain as <i>brother</i> could wrench him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More Stoic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gyakusai Swap '07 on Livejournal. Prompt: _Edgeworth/Franziska: memories of Manfred, angst angst angst._

     Miles wasn't sure how to feel, sitting at the man's desk, marking guillotine penstrokes. He turned the release form over, face-down on the glowing-polished mahogany, and picked up another. This was as good a time as any to feel nothing.

     Heels clacked closer: sharp-ringing warning.

     "You didn't need to come, little brother."  
     Repeating herself -- the perfect did not repeat themselves. Miles eyed the folders Franziska slapped down before him, and followed her crisp-ruffled shirtsleeve up to hard slate eyes, to the single button open at her throat. Manfred von Karma was freshly dead; his heir already let herself go.  
     "As I've said," and Miles returned to his work, "I have as much reason to see his affairs settled as you do."  
     "None of which require your presence _here_."

     Another signature like a blade slash, and Miles said nothing. She hated being ignored, and hated him sitting in the hard-stuffed leather chair rightfully hers, and she likely hated every breath he sullied the quiet with. How petty.

     More clacking steps -- circling the desk, pausing by his side. For a moment, this was familiar, this was contractual obligation studies while Franziska watched hawkish and he formed each syllable slow so she could, too. He frowned deeper, forced his mind to the written word and away from the soft near-brush of her hip on his arm.  
     "It doesn't make sense," she mused.  
     Too light a tone for anyone's comfort. She eyed the completed stack, and played paper corners between her gloved fingers like prey.  
     "Why," Franziska wondered, "Would Papa favour _you_ \--"

     --daylight mysteriously gone when he looked up from his tutors' lessons, wool slacks on his bony new frame, Franziska watching with an envy too hard for her years--

     "--And yet leave you nothing, Miles Edgeworth?"  
     She knew perfectly _well_ why. She couldn't leave well enough alone, she couldn't leave anything scabbed over.  
     "Spite, I suppose," he muttered. Shoving away from the desk, Miles turned in the chair, rubbed hard between his eyes. "A strange sort of compliment. I don't know what was going through his head and it doesn't matter anymore."

     Because he had thought long and hard after that trial, thought of the scream that finally had an owner and thought of everything life hadn't taught him yet. Miles wasn't perfect, and neither was the Demon God -- neither was Franziska. The poor, foolish world lacked the nerve to tell her so.

     "You've changed, little brother."  
     Petulance caught ragged in her voice; he looked up and saw a trace of pout, a girl's shining eyes. All that time and effort blossoming into a woman and she still didn't know a thing.  
     "You're not--"  
     Her voice snapped off, her chin lifted proud as Miles stood. Tradition -- they drew close by coincidence, not by anything as absurd as want.  
     "You're not one of us anymore," she spat, and laid her forehead on his chest. Her gloves creaked into fists. "Y-You're nothing, why should I ...?"

     Sometimes he wondered how a word as small and plain as _brother_ could wrench him. Slowly, Miles laid arms around her and this was different from last time -- not bony limbs and a haughty goodbye, Franziska was soft against him now and she flinched as though his touch burned, and clung closer.  
     "You don't know how much I want to destroy you," she murmured.  
     And yet she came to him when she cracked, when anyone else would fall to rubble but von Karmas didn't do that -- the perfect never ailed.  
     Franziska's fists uncurled. They turned to soft, cunning things and traced plans down his chest.

     If Miles thought he could feel nothing in this grand house, in this tomb-quiet office, he was just as deluded as her.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [an inkling of perfection undone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/110529) by [nefelokokkygia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefelokokkygia/pseuds/nefelokokkygia)




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